


Your Best American Boy

by XYDamianKane



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (metaphorically), Anal Sex, Blue Balls, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Masculinization, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Rough Sex, Stephanie Brown is Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Stephanie’s almost caught up in the novelty of being Robin--of being a boy, too--that she almost forgets how much of a creep Bruce is.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Your Best American Boy

Bruce gave her a jockstrap.

Well, it was in the box with the rest the uniform. 

It’s to hold the corresponding armored cup in place, and wearing it seems like a better idea than going commando in the suit.

It only makes sense she should try to put the “boy” in “boy wonder". So to speak.

She strips out of her clothes, save for her sports bra. She hadn’t intended to match her bra to her jockstrap--or maybe she had, of course everything but the uniform would be black-on-black, it’s fucking Batman.

She bets she looks very cool, very 90s androgyne, very photoshoot-on-gender-identity with the muscles she’s gotten as Spoiler, her big chest strapped down, her little-boy face, her long, blonde hair, and her _new bougie jockstrap_.

She assumes it's bougie because (a) it's Bruce and (b) it's very comfortable, all things considered.

The pouch where a dick would go looks kind of sad and deflated, but the straps frame her ass in a way that’s probably flattering. 

You win some, you lose some.

You become Robin, your (maybe) boyfriend resents you and you earn zero respect from Batman even though you’re fully capable. It happens.

She pushes the cup into the pouch so she can pull on the leggings, and grazes her clit with the side of her thumb in the process.

Huh.

She readjusts.

It looks a lot smoother, like this, if nothing else. 

Wearing it changes the way she walks, a little, as if she’s straddling something. She swings from her shoulders instead of her hips.

She assembles the rest of herself.

The armored material in the vest has a panel that kind of compresses everything. It smoothes out what the sports bra doesn’t.

Once she is entirely dressed and has stuck the mask in place, she walks over to the mirror. She decides to pull her hair up, into sort of a man-bun that she thinks really sells it. 

Nightwing fights with all his hair out and looks really cool doing it, but she’s got a tradition she’s following. And it seems kind of impractical, getting grabbed by the hair like that.

That’s very unfair to Dick. Spoiler’s costume is a lot swooshier than this his (or this one). Lots of moving parts for weirdos to grab.

She’s almost caught up in the novelty of being Robin--of being a boy, too--that she almost forgets how much of a creep Bruce is.

They’re on the sea wall tonight, watching the docks. Tim’s told her how boring this gets, and Stephanie knows they have at least another hour before anything cool is going to happen. She does read the intel packets Bruce makes, even when they’re boring.

So when he tells her to go army crawl closer to the edge, she’s on guard. She zooms in with the mask anyways, watching like she’s supposed to. 

He is behind her. He crouches. The hairs on her neck stand on end. She keeps her eyes focused on the green lit screen playing in her mask.

He spreads her legs, reaches between them, and releases the first catch of her uniform, then the second. He rucks up the fabric, leaving just the jockstrap between her ass and the night air. The rush of the tide fills her ears. He fiddles with something in his utility belt.

“What are you doing?” she hisses. 

He’s kneeling on her calves now, locking her legs in place, and laying over her. She can’t really move under his weight, unless she wants to attract attention to their position

“Robin, no talking in the field unless absolutely necessary,” he growls, spreads her cheeks, and pushes a slick finger into her asshole.

And Stephanie has tried kinky shit on sort of an individual, case-by-case basis but this is _everything at once_. It’s overwhelming her, and she knows what’s coming.

She tries to relax, struggles to arch her back, trying to make things easier. And it is, a little, until he goes back in with two.

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she claws at the incline could barely stop her from falling into the sea--if she could move.

Bruce takes his fingers out.

There’s a dull pressure that must be the head of his cock pushing impatiently inside. He has to try two or three times before she feels one heavy hand leave her hip. An armored thumb tears open her skin a little as it guides his cock inside her. An inch or two slips inside, too, before starts to really hurt.

Stephanie knows she can’t give away their position or she’ll be out as Robin for sure. She wonders if she could even shout loud enough to be heard at the docks, over the water.

She bites the knuckle of her thumb.

She’s been hurt worse before.

She must let out a sound, because he growls, “Take it easy, son,” in her ear, and the words go straight to the heat in her gut.

She keeps thinking it’s over--that he’s seated himself all the way inside her, anyways--but he just keeps pushing. Until he isn’t, and he’s fucking her. The slick glide of it--ha, the friction differential-- makes her think he’s not wearing a condom.

And this aching over-fullness, the overwhelming pressure inside her--all these could be pleasant under different circumstances. It hurts and it’s wrong and, frankly, that could be fun.

She wonders if he treats Tim like this.

_God. Tim._

It would explain a lot. Why he likes what he likes.

He’d probably handle Bruce fucking him raw just like he handles every other part of the job. Stoically, gracefully. Silently. Whatever.

_Robin, noun. Boy Wonder. Distraction. Sidekick. Cocksleeve._

Is it better or worse for boys, like this? Tim seems to like it, but that’s not a great sample size.

Bruce pins her hands together in one of his, and she feels her left wrist pop under the weight. His other arm is wrapped in a loose chokehold around her neck. He’s draped across her back, the cape around them both, weight bearing down on her everywhere.

It’s a good day not to be claustrophobic. Stephanie feels smaller than she has in a long time. Her face scrapes back and forth on the cement incline with each thrust--she has to take the scrapes along on her jaw to avoid each thrust pushing the mask off-- and _God, he doesn’t care about her at all_.

That definitely shouldn’t be hot.

Letting her pussy twitch and grow slicker completely untouched is maddening, too, just in a different way. She can’t rub her thighs together to relieve any of it because Bruce is between them, on top of them, forcing himself inside over and over. She imagines this is what it’s like to get stabbed.

It only gets more violent as she loosens up, tries to relax into it; the slap of the each impact grows louder. Maybe she'll bruise. The cup moves against her, and the lip of it catches her clit with every thrust now and that hurts, too. 

She feels Bruce swell bigger inside her, and he must be cumming, because there’s an unsettling warmth inside her and he slows to a stop. When he finally pulls out, a little drips onto her thighs, into the leggings.

At least she won’t get pregnant again. Robin can’t do that.

She shudders, but puts her weight on her forearm and spins back to get up and face him, using her momentum to try and punch him in the stomach.

He grabs her wrist to stop the blow from landing.

“You’re just lucky I like that sort of thing,” she snarls, “ _boss_.” There are bits of gravel in the abrasions on her face and they sting. She realizes she’s still exposed and fidgets with her other hand to redress herself.

“That’s one thing in common with the other boys, then.”

He gestures down at the docks.

“Come on. We’re losing them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say this is the most deliberately cruel I've ever written Bruce.


End file.
